Balance and Ruin
by Draconai
Summary: Starlet's Seven. They worshipped not Lakshmi, nor even called her by Starlet. At times they were four, at times they were twelve, but rarely ever seven. Their name came from its lack of connection; for none would suspect this group of mismatched friends, bearing a name linked to one that held little but beauty, to be dancing with their swords... Companion fic to Keys and Crosses.
1. Remember

Draco: The sad thing is that I can't seem to _stop_ **beginning** stories.

Alright, this is a (hopefully) small companion fic to my large-scale Kingdom Hearts story _Keys and Crosses._ Anything in here is fully understandable for those who have not read K+C, but there will be a couple spoilers involved (though nothing a VI-er can't figure out before reveal). Characters from other Fantasies will be making appearances, but nothing with a significantly major role.

All chapters will be named after tracks from the OverClocked ReMix album _Balance and Ruin_. (ff6 {dot} ocremix {dot} org) I strongly recommend the album to any VI-er with the space on their hardware, it's absolutely BEAUTIFUL.

Also, someone bug me about VI again. I'm done XIII & XIII-2, and Lightning Returns has a different gameplay style, so I don't have to worry about readapting gameplay, but I need to do another round of VI.

Characters, weapons, origins... locations © Square Enix. Monsters © Akihisa Ikeda.

* * *

><p><strong>Remember<strong>

"I'm tellin' you, it's not gonna hurt your business!"

The seaside town of New Bodhum was a small community, with a small number of people who enjoyed what it had to offer. NORA House was a small business in for that small community, and everyone knew what it had to offer.

Why did people keep trying to change that?

Lebreau, owner of the NORA House bar, turned that question over in her mind, the setting sun gleaming past her eyes through the open windows. Sazh Katzroy - airship pilot, and a familiar face around New Bodhum - had offered Lebreau a couple ideas to 'spice up' the place, but she had tried to tell him that the concepts were too "out there" for the community. As usual, Sazh had not been quick to let his offer get shot down.

"Look, just give it one night to see how it fares," the pilot insisted. "A couple tables. Blackjack, roulette, maybe Chronobind, it's not gonna wreck-"

"Wait, what was that last one?" Lebreau interrupted. "Chroniwhat?"

"Chronobind," Sazh repeated, slower this time. "I promise you..."

A gathering of laughter caused him to trail off, and the two of them glanced out the open doorway. The laughter was not entirely familiar - indeed, one or two of the voices seemed a bit... _rougher_ than Bohum ought be. Pilot and bartender traded glances; Sazh lowered one hand to his hip, while Lebreau reached under the counter.

The owners of those voices came into view.

Sazh relaxed when he saw the leader of the group - a lightly scarred face, in an ornate longjacket, with five cards in one hand and the rest of the deck in the other, walking almost sideways so as to keep his face on the crowd alongside him. The blonde-haired faces behind him were unfamiliar - a messy muscleman in a brawler's tank top, a much cleaner and decidedly _attractive_ figure in blue armour and cape, and a woman in gold armour - but Sazh knew the guy in charge, and that was enough for him to raise a hand in greeting._  
><em>

"Hey, if isn't Gabianni!"

The group's leader turned to face them; upon seeing Sazh, he slipped his hand into the deck and pocketed it in his jacket. "Katzroy!" he called. "I got the place right!"

Lebreau glanced between Sazh and the gambler, Gabianni. "You know this guy, Sazh?"

"He's another airship pilot," Sazh explained to Lebreau. "Not exactly a flight service, but friendly enough - and Lady Luck's most devoted. Catch her favour and he's a free ride."

"Easier when she doesn't have a choice," the girl behind him mused.

Lebreau loosed a silent breath, pulling her hands out from under the counter.

The gambler glanced back at her with a rueful expression before turning to Lebreau. "Falcon Flyer, Setzer Gabianni, owner of the airship _Blackjack_, pilot-in-chief for Starlet's Seven."_  
><em>

"Starlet who?" Lebreau mused.

"It's a long story," Sazh mused.

Lebreau glanced out the doors again before breathing a heavy sigh. "Might as well," she mused. "Drinks?"

"You just got alcohol, or anything softer?" the girl asked.

"Name it," Lebreau replied.

"Raiden Cola?"

The bartender pulled open a minifridge behind the counter, grabbing a bottle and tossed it to her.

"I'll take a glass of Angel Feathers," Setzer mused.

The bruiser and the ladies' man exchanged glances and grinned at one another. Lebreau had seen that wordless exchange a thousand times, and said ahead of them, "How many bottles, and of what?"

"Twelve, of Judgement Bolt," Setzer replied, realizing what had just happened behind him. "For now, anyway."

Sazh leaned back on the counter. "So, who's the rest of your party, Setzer?" he asked of the gambler.

"Phantom Fist, Sabin Rene Figaro," the bruiser replied.

"Desert Gear, Edgar Roni Figaro," the ladies' man added.

The woman took a seat at the counter. "Lady Frost, Celes Chere," she finished, raising the bottle to her lips.

Lebreau raised her gaze, handing Setzer his drink. "Lady Frost?" she mused. "That sounds kinda familiar."

"I wouldn't quite be surprised," Celes admitted.

The bartender was quiet for a long moment, trying to think; then she shrugged, pulling out shot glasses and bottles of hard liquor for Sabin and Edgar. "There's more comfortable seats out on the deck," Lebreau informed them.

Celes lowered her bottle. "Should I begin before or after they drink each other under the table?"

At once, Sazh said "Before" and Lebreau said "After".

Setzer pulled out a coin and flipped it.

"Tails," Sazh mused.

The gambler's fingers curled as it landed in his palm. Peering at the coin, he angled his head from side to side for a moment; then he closed his fingers, saying, "Shall we let them share sober?"

Sabin groaned.

Edgar sighed.

Celes turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Whatever you think is right, you're wrong," Setzer reminded her, pocketing the coin. "And that's a big mistake."

The group headed out to the deck, Lebreau bringing with her a mix of her own. Sabin and Edgar began pouring shots in preparation; once six glasses had been filled for each of them, they turned to Celes.

Lady Frost set her bottle, now empty, onto the table as the sun vanished on the horizon; and lit only by the stars, she began to weave their tale.

* * *

><p>Draco: You know where this is going.<p> 


	2. Now Is The Winter

Draco: As per usual, my first few chapters are coming in quick. We'll see how long this particular starting surge lasts. Quick warning; we're going to start off with several chapters of mostly Starlet-unrelated backstory just to establish a few things.

Characters, weapons, origins, locations © Square Enix. Monsters © Akihisa Ikeda.

* * *

><p><strong>Now Is The Winter<strong>

"I hate the cold."

The squadron of soldiers on the march through the icy snowfields was in a generally foul mood. At the head of the troop, the two co-commanders, known as Biggs and Wedge, were very irritable. Wedge was lacking in behaviour to show for it; Biggs, not so much.

"Oh, come on," Wedge mused, trying to lighten his partner up. "You're in seven layers of warm clothing and you put on your skinsuit earlier, it's nothing you can't put up with for another ten minutes."

Biggs growled. "Knock knock."

Impressed by his compatriot's sudden change in attitude, Wedge gladly played along. "Who's ther-"

"I hate the cold," Biggs interrupted.

Wedge sighed in exasperation, glancing back at the squadron - every soldier bore a face that said _enough of this_. "You're not the only one," Wedge muttered. "Don't worry. We get to Narshe, we'll warm right up - one way or another."

Biggs sighed. "Fine," he mused, "but I'm not taking point in this weather anymore."

They could see the settlement ahead of them. The city of Narshe, deep in the cold northern regions, was their destination, always with a lookout ready to approach anyone newly come to its borders, and as the soldiers continued to march on, they found themselves approached by a guard, warmly bundled. Though his hand was buried in cloth, from it protruded a sharpened cane. "Halt," he called.

Wedge raised a hand, causing his company to slow to a stop; then he and Biggs stepped forward, each of their hands on their hips - where a pair of revolvers lay waiting.

The guard looked over them. "Your faces..."

"You do not recognize us, by our appearances," Biggs mused.

Suspicion was to be expected. His left ear, and Wedge's right ear, were tapered to points; their other ears were ringed with spikes of flesh. Another such spike protruded from each of their jaws, pointing to right from left, and left from right, respectively; above Biggs' left eye was a triangular edge that buried in his hair, and a similar edge was raised over Wedge's left eye. The soldiers, likewise, bore faces covered in fleshly distortions.

Anyone would look at their faces and say they were monsters.

Mostly because the rest of their bodies were bundled for the chill.

The guard shook his head. "I do not, " he said firmly.

"And because you do not recognize our appearances, you suspect us," Wedge continued.

"I do," the guard admitted.

Biggs and Wedge exchanged glances. "Were we to say 'monstrel'," Biggs mused, turning back to the guard, "what would that name bring to your mind?"

The guard raised his cane at his side. "That would bring to mind a desecration," he replied.

Wedge smirked. "And were we to say we bore that identity...?"

"I would see no reason not to sound the alarm," the guard insisted, reaching for a nearby switch with his empty hand.

A moment of pause; their gazes locked on one another.

Then an incredibly irritated - yet incredibly _relieved_ - sigh emerged from both leaders; Biggs raised his left hand, and Wedge raised his right, fingers splayed, before turning the palms towards one another. A collective groan sounded across the squadron as they cast their packs to the ground.

"Lady Luck smiles at us," Wedge sighed, reaching for the sharpened ear on his right side. With a minor wince, he pulled - and the tapered edge pulled itself away, revealing the ordinary, unadorned ear that it had obscured. "We were afraid Narshe had already been occupied. We're from the Empi-"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence; for the guard raised his empty hand towards the soldier, and a _bolt of fire_ launched from his palm, slamming into Wedge and sending him and his seven layers of clothing flying back. Biggs swore, leaping back as the guard swept his cane through air only just vacated - and his bundled clothing began to **burn**, revealing a jet-black suit and tie beneath it, and five tails rising around at his waist.

"He's a yoko!" Biggs roared as the troops pulled themselves to their feet. "Shiva maneuvers, NOW!"

The men reached for their backs, drawing and loading a collection of machine guns as the yoko at the city entrance cast his cane to the snow. Biggs leapt away as his soldiers panned out, so as to not strike their compatriots as they began to fire at the monster before them; yet the flaming fox only lashed his tails forward to catch the bullets.

He was genuinely impressed when the bullets began to _freeze the flame of his tails in place_, leaving his movement forward hindered by his own body.

The soldiers emptied their clips into his tails, freezing them nearly to the point where they met his humanoid flesh; the moment their weapons clicked empty, each soldier released his trigger, pried his empty clip into the snow, and pulled a fresh Shiva clip from his belt to load into his weapon. Biggs himself had a rifle in his hand, having just loaded a Shiva round, and he took three paces to the side so as to get a good shot at the yoko's center mass.

"Regiments disguised as monsters," the fox mused, his gaze on his tails, "and armed with weapons for specific targets..." He turned to Biggs. "You must be Gestahlian troops."

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" Biggs demanded. "You turning away other monsters?!"

"Monstrels are a desecration upon monsterdom," the yoko said to him, his voice trembling with anger, "and not welcome into this occupation. Were you to bear that identity, I would sound the alarm - for monstrels are the very definition of diamonds scattered in a pile of gravel, and I would rather not take the risk that a diamond withstand my blows. But humans are still less welcome here - yet I need not sound the alarm to such opponents."

He raised his hand towards his tails - and the ice upon his tails instantaneously _melted_ as he lashed his tails back.

"For no human, no matter his armaments, is a match for a yoko in the winter of a war!"

The soldiers began to fire upon him; yet his hand lashed forward, and a _stream_ of fire lashed out before him, melting their bullets and freeing the coolant within. The wall of ice that forged upon the vanguard of his flame melted against the wave, and the troops quickly abandoned their weapons and leapt away as the flames melted six feet of snow beneath where their feet had been.

No sooner had he relaxed his stream of flame than Biggs took the opportunity to fire his rifle. The Shiva round caught his chest, and he gave a shout of pain as the ice quickly wrapped his torso. The men quickly raised their weapons again, this time in a staggered fire; the troops at front emptied what remained of their clips into the yoko's body, spreading the chill further across his flesh, before falling to their knees to reload, clearing the path for the next set to fire.

When the last group had emptied their clips, the yoko was frozen in what was nearly a block of ice.

Biggs kept his weapon, reloaded, braced to fire for ten seconds; then he lowered it and stepped towards his fallen partner. When he had neared Wedge's still form facedown in the snow, he prodded it with his foot.

No response.

He nudged it again. "Wedge, get up."

Still no response.

"Come on," he echoed, "you're in seven layers of warm clothing and you put on your skinsuit earlier, it's nothing you can't take."

Wedge chuckled, rolling over - and revealing the yoko's blast had burned a clean hole through five layers of fire-retardant winter garments. "Just about," he admitted, pulling himself to his feet. Glancing at the frozen yoko, he mused, "The Shiva rounds worked."

"Only just," Biggs countered. "We'll have to tell the techies to get a stronger coolant if we wanna-"

A _scream_ of melting ice caused the two of them and the rest of their squadron to turned. The yoko's encasement was melting from the _inside_, and as Biggs raised his rifle again the yoko reached towards the co-commanders with two fingers extended to form a finger gun.

The commander fired.

The demon fox fired.

The inferno melted the bullet's casing and the coolant within before it had a chance to freeze the fire, and the blaze continued towards Biggs; the soldier had only time to open his mouth, a scream forming in his lungs, before the flame connected with his face and his cranium _melted_, the liquified bone flying in every direction.

"Biggs!" Wedge's roar was filled with horror, even as he grabbed the weapon before it could hit the ground, raising it towards the yoko; yet the fox had already fired another bolt, which seared through the hole in the first five layers, burned through the last two, and tore through his heart.

And then _blazed out the back of the seven layers._

Wedge was suspended in place before falling to one side, landing upon his partner as the soldiers, panicked, began to fire - knowing they stood not a snowball's chance in hell.

+x+x+x+

"Data back from the troops sent to Narshe."

A heavy sigh emerged from the man sitting at a desk in the weapons lab. "Automatic, or manual?" His voice was heavy with knowing depression.

The messenger set the file upon his desk. "Automatic, as per usual," he replied in a like tone.

Emperor Gestahl, leader of the Gestahlian Empire, could only nod solemnly for the messenger to depart as he picked up the file. The war between mankind and monsterdom had been going on for years now, and they had reached what the Emperor considered to be the "winter" of the war. His family had long classed its wars by seasons; spring when the war begins to bud, winter once full conflict has been reached, autumn if and when it turns sour, summer if and when it turns sweet.

This particular war had been in winter for a full year - and was growing no warmer. Every attempt for mankind to fight back against the monsters had ended with great unfavourably. Other armies had tried armaments of increasing _power_; but Gestahl and his scientists continued to attempt _new methods_, weapons specialized for each monster on which they had information.

Not power nor strategy had yet borne any fruit.

He looked over the files for a long moment before casting them on his desk for the next passing lab hand to pick up. Each soldier was outfitted with a hidden camera upon their uniforms, so as to gather data on their opponents even should their bearers fall in combat - yet even with this, they had been able to get little more than scraps of information.

"The war's autumn will be upon us before long," the Emperor mused grimly to no one.

The door nearby swung open, and Gestahl turned to see an ever-welcome face step into the lab. "Father, are you in here?"

"My son," he called, "what brings you here?"

The young Gestahl shrugged, approaching the desk at which his father sat. "How are things coming along?" he asked.

"Not well," the Emperor confessed, turning back to the file. "Everything we develop - none of it stands a chance."

A grim silence filled the air at that observation.

"Say, Father..."

The Emperor turned to him. "What is it?"

"Humans... we don't stand a chance against monsters." Young Gestahl turned to his father. "Do we?"

"No," the Emperor admitted grimly. "We do not."

Another pause.

"Well..." Young Gestahl held his teeth against his lip for a moment. "What if we were to fight them... _with_ monsters?"

Now, _that_ was unexpected, if nothing else. "What are you saying?" the Emperor asked.

"Perhaps, if we were to capture monsters - _any_ monsters - we might be able to stand a chance," young Gestahl explained. "Imprison them, find _some_ way to put their abilities to _our_ use. Then we work our way up. If we-"

"The risks you're talking about are astronomical," Emperor Gestahl reminded him. "We would be _more_ than vulnerable if they were to turn on us in the field of battle."

"Do we have another choice?" young Gestahl countered. "If we don't do _something_, they'll overpower mankind as a whole."

The Emperor shook his head. "We cannot," he insisted. "I'm certain that, given enough time, we'll be able to devise _something_ to counter these creatures."

Young Gestahl winced. "We may not have that time."

"The alternative is too risky," the Emperor replied. "I'm sorry, son, but we cannot."

A long moment passed; then young Gestahl turned and departed from the lab, leaving his father deep in thought.

+x+x+x+

_"Alert! Monstrous presence detected in Epsilon Sector! Identities unconfirmed! Defensive units, move out! Alert! Monstrous presence..."_

The advantage to having the Emperor for a father is the ability to position oneself wherever, whenever, without question. Young Gestahl, intent on studying their opponents up close, had always accompanied the soldiers stations as defense for the city of Vector. On the true field of war, mankind had won no battles (unless sniping the succubus leader when she had called for the town of Maranda to surrender qualified as a battle); but when it came to home defense, humans had been capable of nearly matching the monsters - and none were better at matching the monsters than the Gestahlian Empire.

The Epsilon Sector housed the everyday businesses for the people of Vector - grocery, garments, and bars - and it was at the doors to one of the bars that the soldiers found the monstrous attackers. It was astonishingly small for an attack group; only three, and women at that. Young Gestahl was at the lead of one set of soldiers as they approached the group head-on, with two other units pinning them from ether side.

"Only three?" Gestahl murmured. Then, realizing what had happened; "It must be a diversion." Turning to the nearest soldier, he shouted, "Put the squadron for Iota Sector on alert. Rear troops, take guard!"

The back half of each set quickly turned, weapons prepared to fire on any monsters that might take form, as Gestahl turned his attention back to the monsters. One of the girls, who seemed significantly younger than the others, was making no effort to disguise herself; a pointed hat and a rod tipped with a crescent moon made her stand out as a witch. Another girl was less obvious to unattentive eyes, with a lollipop in her mouth; her hair was the only giveaway, the unnatural icy blue of an abominable snowgirl. The third girl looked nearly human; but her figure was impossible, and her very presence seemed drawing, the only indications that she was a succubus.

The succubus and snowgirl were back-to-back; the witch had her wand before her as she glared right at Gestahl's set of soldiers

The Emperor's son held his hand out to one soldier, who handed him a six-shot revolver; Ghestal took two steps forward, levelling the weapon on the witch - who seemed to be the youngest.

"You are surrounded, and a thousand bullets are braced to fire should you make the _slightest_ offensive action," he called to the girls. "Witch, put your wand down."

Slowly, the girl at the front reached down, setting her wand on the ground.

"Snowgirl, remove the candy from your mouth, slowly."

The girl of blue hair reached for her lollipop, drawing it from her mouth - revealing it to be cherry-red - and held it in her hand.

"All of you, put your hands in the air."

With the slowest of movements, the girls raised their arms skyward.

Ghestal beckoned for his soldiers to maintain their stance while he stepped towards the girls, his revolver still raised. "Pretty young to be fighting in a war," he mused. "Either you're a diversion for a real attack... or you're kids goofing off."

"Would you believe me if I said we were here looking for dates?" the succubus mused.

The witch elbowed her in the side, only to panic and duck her head as her hands went back skyward. When no one fired, a shaky breath passed through her lips.

Gestahl shook his head. "What are you doing here?"

"We thought we could sneak in," the witch replied, "and break this army from the inside. Didn't expect you to be so defended."

A curious hum passed through young Gesthal's lips. "Cocky little things, aren't you?"

"Tell that to the soldier in the front row," the succubus mused, beckoning her head towards the troops she was facing. A couple snickers were heard in that direction, but no one lowered their weapons.

Curiously, the snowgirl was beginning to sweat - despite it being a fairly chilly day for Vector. "Can have my candy back?" she murmured.

Gestahl was confused for a moment; then he snapped his fingers in realization. "Right," he mused. "Abominable snowgirl. Temperature-sensitive. That sucker must be a coolant?"

The snowgirl nodded.

The Emperor's son turned away, not saying anything about the candy. "Well, ladies, I think it's safe to say that _you_ are not the important threat here. It's actually kind of funny. I was speaking with the Emperor earlier, entertaining the possibility of capturing monsters - because humans, honestly, don't stand a chance against you. We were thinking of perhaps... using you as our main offensive troops."

The girls exchanged glances.

Young Gestahl sighed, turning back to them. "Sadly, he shot my idea down," he replied. "Said that it was too risky. Said that you could turn on us without a moment's notice."

He raised his revolver to aim at the witch.

"So, it would seem _capture_ is out of the question."

The witch's eyes went wide.

A moment's pause; then Gestahl smirked, lowering the revolver again. "But you know... what data we get comes in few and far between. You're always killing us before we can get any good intel. Perhaps I can convince him to let me imprison you."

He snapped his fingers.

A soldier stepped forward, handing him a radio, and he raised the device to his mouth. "Father, it's me. We have the infiltrators. A trio of kids. Requesting permission to capture. Over."

_"What monsters are they? Over."_

"Succubus, snowgirl, witch. We're in the Epsilon sector. Over."

_"I'll have containment prepared by the time you get back. Over and out."_

Young Gestahl tossed the radio to its owner. "Well, that went lovingly. Come on - and no funny business. You make a wrong move and I'll fill each of you with a thousand holes."

The succubus raised an eyebrow. "You're not worried about firing on your own troops with a move like that?"

"There is not a human soldier in this world who is not willing to die if it means taking a monster with him," Gestahl replied.

At that, the soldiers closed in, and the monster girls had no choice but to be led towards the Imperial Palace.

* * *

><p>Draco: I always mess up Gestahl's name. I want to write it Ghestal.<p> 


	3. The Megiddo Brigade

Draco: I never get Megiddo right. I always write it Meddigo or Mediggo or something.

It took a lot of effort to not refer to young Gestahl as "Seinen Gestahl". This doesn't make a lick of sense to any of you who haven't seen me on deviantART but it's Kingdom Hearts spoilers so wait for me to PM your review before you ask questions.

Characters, weapons, origins, locations © Square Enix. Monsters © Akihisa Ikeda.

* * *

><p><strong>The Megiddo Brigade<strong>

"Welcome to the Gestahlian Imperial Palace."

Young Gestahl's words were wrought with menace as he led the three prisoners and the soldiers for the Epsilon Sector into the palace. The soldiers had confiscated the witch's wand, though the snowgirl had been allowed to keep her coolant-candy in her mouth for the trip. "You should consider yourselves lucky," he added, turning to the girls. "You are the first, and may well be the _last_ prisoners the Empire has ever taken. Thus you could be the only monsters who will ever see inside these walls."

He turned. "And, indeed, you will never see anything again."

His footfalls resumed, and one of the soldiers nudged the succubus in the back to get her moving. "With this war between humans and monsters," young Gestahl continued, "we've been running so very many tests trying to find a way to fight back. Everyone else just thinks _Hit 'em hard, and him 'em again _- but not us. The Gestahlian Empire knows that brute force will win the easy battles, and preparation will win them all."

The Emperor's son had taken them into the palace through the labside entryway, and now they neared walls of glass - bulletproofed panes that allowed soldiers and officials to get a good look without harm. "And preparation means targeting weaknesses," Gestahl continued, turning around again and walking backwards. "Our projects are labelled for Feymarch's warriors. The swift currents of a mermaid face the heat of Ifrit. The mighty heat of a yoko faces the chill of Shiva. The frail chill of a snowgirl faces the bolts of Ramuh. For every monster on which we have gained any sort of data, we have armaments that, at the very least, _try_ to strike at the chinks in their armour."

It was then that a man in long, ornate robes approached; and the company came to a halt, prompting Gestahl to turn and stop. Each of the soldiers raised one hand forward before crossing it over their chests and bowing in salute.

Young Gestahl only bowed his head. "Father," he greeted. "Come to take the prisoners firsthand?"

"Thought I might see them for myself," the Emperor replied. Then, to the monsters; "You must be the infiltrators. I am Emperor Gestahl. Might I ask your names?"

"Screw you," the witch snapped.

One of the soldiers landed a blow across her jaw; the force of the attack knocked her to the floor.

"Have their cells been readied?" young Gestahl asked of the Emperor.

"They have," the Emperor replied. "Lead them this way."

Another soldier dragged the witch back to her feet as the group began to move once more, and young Gestahl resumed his backward pace. "See, when this war started, I was kinda... _new_ to how our army handled things," he explained. "I thought we took more prisoners! So when I realized iron bars and concrete walls wouldn't be _nearly_ enough to contain you guys, I set up a couple, um..."

He came to a stop of his own accord as the Emperor opened a door nearby.

"...custom imprisonments."

Emperor Gestahl took the witch by the arm, leading her into the room as his son explained. "Witch's magic, for example. Studying what data we had, I figured out that their fancy spells - _useless_ against a fully artificial entrapment. Nature is their weapon - and here, nature has no reach. There is no wood, no dirt and stone, no fresh spring. Just solid. Steel. Walls."

The door was slammed, and the Emperor beckoned for the group to continue. "Speaking of water," young Gestahl added to his father, "remind me to revamp the plans for the yoko cells." Then to the succubus and snowgirl; "I thought cold would be a fox's worst enemy, but that's not happening. Our troops to Narshe got _obliterated_ for trying to freeze fire. I'm thinking water will be a better option, but maybe I should wait for the Leviath designs to have a field go."

"Probably the best choice," one of the soldiers mused.

"You tried to fight a yoko?" the succubus asked. "_I_ hardly survived a round with one of those guys!"

Young Gestahl fell silent. "We were screwed from the start," he said to his father.

"Undoubtedly."

The next door opened from the inside, a scientist stepping out of the room, and one of the soldiers grabbed the succubus's shoulder, that she would step forward. She was led inside, and the scientist then followed her in as the door closed. Young Gestahl sighed, turning to the snowgirl again. "I'll admit that seeing the succubus footage made me feel... a little uncomfortable," he confessed. "I seriously thought that only went one way. I had to go through all the rest of our monster data and a whole six-pack of Earthen Fury before I could come back to it."

The snowgirl gave a sympathetic wince.

"However," he admitted, his voice lightening again, "after I was in condition to work, I was able to determine that succubi have an **instinctive** need to _dominate_. They can_not_ submit to a man. How they find boyfriends with an attitude like that is completely beyond me."

The scientist stepped out with a studious expression on his face.

The soldier followed with a look of _utter horror_ on his.

"So naturally, submission is the whole _point_ of **this** particular imprisonment."

The soldier stepped up to the Emperor. "Permission to visit the bar, sir," he forced out.

Emperor Gestahl looked to his son.

"Granted," young Gestahl replied.

The soldier took off past the rest of the squadron, and the Emperor led the group to the next cell as young Gestahl turned back to the snowgirl. As she passed the door, she made the mistake of looking through the window - and was _horrified_ by what she saw. He decided to hold his silence as the monster tried to regain her composure.

"Rope won't hold her for long," she muttered.

"Oh, that's not rope," Gestahl replied. "That's mythril cable."

Another moment for her to recover from the statement.

"I'm gonna sound like such a pretentious ass, here," the Emperor's son added, "but when I saw you were sweating, in Vector winds, all I could think was _Succe~ess._ I had figured snow, meant natural body chill, meant room temperature is _infernous_. But that was all conjecture - until you wanted your candy back, and I realized that it's packing a coolant like our Shiva rounds. I'll bet that if anyone but a snowgirl or a yoko takes a lick of that thing, they'll freeze _solid_. Seven layers of frostbite, easy. Anything warmer than 0 Celsius is going to feel to you like a hot summer to me."

It was then that young Gestahl grabbed the lollipop protruding from her lips as the Emperor pulled the next door open.

"But I'd rather not risk you freezing your rations."

He grabbed the snowgirl's arm and pulled her forward before shoving her into the room, slamming the door behind her; and he turned the dial to 30°C.

It wasn't long before the monster's cries began to sound, and a grin rose on young Gestahl's face as he handed the lollipop to one of the soldiers. "Stick this in the witch's mouth," he ordered. "Report back to me on the reaction. And don't even think about even _licking_ that thing."

"Yes sir," the soldier replied, accepting the candy and taking off down the hall.

"Men, you're dismissed," the Emperor told them. The soldiers gladly heeded that alert, separating through the palace until it was only the Emperor and his son.

A long pause; then the two began to walk back towards the weapons sector of the lab.

"Do you really think they'll ally with us after imprisonment like this?" the Emperor asked.

A sputtering laugh from young Gestahl. "Yeah, right," he admitted. Then; "Well, maybe that succubus if she goes crazy. I couldn't figure out how their minds work from the footage. If it's worse than I thought, we might be able to aim her at other monsters and get _something_ of a result."

Emperor Gestahl turned to him. "Then why would you think we could find a way to use their abilities for ourselves?"

"You said recruitment was too risky," his son insisted. "That's why I didn't stop you from getting the cells ready. But if we have live samples for data, maybe we can find a way to... I dunno, _synthesize_ their effects. It's easier to study prisoners than opponents."

"Perhaps..."

The two arrived at the weapons lab, where a scientist with a clipboard approached it. "Emperor Gestahl! I've been waiting."

"My apologies," the Emperor mused. "How are the Leviath rounds coming?"

"Not well," the scientist admitted, looking over the sheets on his paper. "We can't find any way to maintain chill water in a bullet. Leviath is not on our side."

"What if you didn't use a bullet?"

Emperor and scientist both turned to the young Gestahl, who had a hand on his chin in thought. "What do you mean?" the scientist asked.

"Just used pressurized water," he mused. "Give it the chill to fight yoko, and the force of a bullet. There's no reason to put steel on it."

The scientist thought a moment. "That could work," he mused. "But... that means an entirely different weapon for one type of enemy."

Young Gestahl only raised an eyebrow.

"I'll let the team know," he mused. "Thank you, sir."

"No problem."

+x+x+x+

"Monsters, monsters, monsters..."

The young Gestahl was pacing in his quarters, his mind racing. He had had every honesty when he had told his father that using monsters against monsters was their best option; yet if recruitment was not an option, then how could they put their abilities to use? It was nearly midnight in Vector, yet he remained sleepless as he tried to determine how they could use their new captives to their advantage. Before long his patience ended, and he roared in anger at himself, slamming one hand upon a small workdesk. With his other hand, he grabbed at his hair, as though pulling at the strands would spur his brain to come to the conclusion he would need.

In truth, all that did was pull a few strands from his scalp, prompting a yelp of pain as he glanced at the fibres clenched between his fingers. With a huff, Gestahl slumped into the nearest chair, leaving the hair in his fist.

_Fighting monsters with monsters... Enslavement won't work. They'll just turn on us as soon as the battle opens up. Even if monstrels are enemies to other monsters, they still hate humans. That's out of the question. It's not like we can just **find** monsters who'll help__ us._

His train of thought screeched to a halt, and he glanced at the hairs in his hand.

_...But can we **make**_ them?

+x+x+x+

The door opened to the cell holding the abominable snowgirl, and weakly did she open her eyes. Not twelve hours had passed in this cell conditioned to match a Jidoorian summer; yet she felt victim to an eternity of endless heat. Now she saw him, the man who had forced her into this prison of flames, with a knife in his hand. Had he finally learned to show mercy? Or did their studies simply necessitate flesh, rather than observation?

It mattered not.

With only the faintest of motions, she closed her eyes. "Do it," she forced out, her voice grating with pain.

She would gladly accept death, knowing no fruit would bear from pleading for her life.

The Emperor's son knelt at her side, raising the knife to her neck. "Would you like me to end your life?" he mused, his voice sounding genuinely worried.

"Yes..."

A smirk on the young Gestahl's face; he lashed the blade away from her, the edge cutting loose a lock of hair that fell into his waiting palm, and he quickly got to his feet.

"Unfortunately, that is not an option," he mused, holding the ice-blue strands before him. "Let me tell you, that candy of yours knows how to chill. Took forever to get at that witch after she took a bite."

The snowgirl's gaze fell towards him as he stepped out of the cell, closing the door behind him.

A moment's passage; then the heat in her cell began to intensify further, and her cries echoed across the hall once again.

+x+x+x+

"A _monstrous infusion _experiment?"

Emperor Gestahl had been astonished by the request his son had placed. "We're fighting monsters," the young Gestahl insisted, "and they're killing us before we can become monsters ourselves. If we're gonna gaze into that abyss, we're gonna need to give it a reason to gaze back."

"Genetic samples of monsters," the Emperor mused, "infused into our soldiers?"

"Nobody who does not _want_ to participate _needs_ participate," his son insisted. "Only volunteers. I've only three samples anyways. If the experiment goes wrong, I will accept full responsibility, as well as any and all punishment you deign fit to give me."

Hesitation was blatant on Emperor Gestahl's face; then he sighed in resignation. "Very well," he replied. "When will the procedure be ready?"

"If all goes well," young Gestahl replied, "it should be ready in four days."

"I shall alert the lab to allow your experiment," the Emperor replied. "Good luck."

A nervous snicker. "I'm gonna need it."

+x+x+x+

True to his word, Gestahl had the infusions prepared in four days' time. Three soldiers had gladly volunteered for the project, eager to be part of at least a _chance_ to fight back with some success; and now, with various officials and the Emperor himself observing, and the whole scene being broadcasted to the rest of the Empire's soldiers, young Gestahl directed the scientists to begin before setting a headset on over his ear.

"Soldiers. Commanders. Father." His voice was strong with confidence. "In this winter of war, I thank you all for approving of this project. No, 'project' may not even be the right word. It's a _gamble_, if nothing else. Maybe we can't succeed. Maybe we can't even come close. But damn if we don't let it be remembered that we tried."

The soldiers lay back on the operating tables, and the scientists closed various steel binds over them in as young Gestahl continued. "Here, you can see, we are restraining the soldiers. As we are not entirely certain how the body will instinctively react to this procedure, we need to ensure they do not bring harm to those around them. During the time since Father has approved of this project, we have been carefully studying the samples taken from our captive monsters. If our calculations carry no fallacies, we should have on our hands a means to transfer to our soldiers the genetic substances of abominable snowgirl, succubus, and witch."

Two scientists approached each soldier, one from either side, each holding a syringe filled with a differently coloured fluid. The snowgirl's was an expected icy blue; the succubus' was a hot pink; and the witch's was an ominous gold.

"Men, you may begin."

The scientist on each volunteer's left brought his needle to the soldier's chest, whilst the other brought it to his arm. "We apply the genetic substance from two different points," Gestahl continued, "in hopes of stabilizing the infusion through separate waves - a focused wave, injected from near the heart, and a broader wave, injected at the vein." The scientists pushed in the plungers of their syringes, and each of the soldiers drew taught breaths as the infusions began to enter. The moment the needles were empty, each scientist quickly drew it out, applying brief pressure to the point where the needle entered before then parting again.

A long moment passed.

Then the volunteer who had taken the succubus infusion gave a sudden grunt of shock, thrashing out against his bonds suddenly. The man who had received the snowgirl infusion began to shout in pain, his voice resembling that of a victim to flame. In a shock, young Gestahl realized what mistake he had made - with a thick curse (straight into his microphone, no less), he shot forward, grabbing a glass of cold water from a nearby table. As he approached the work area, he pointed at the succubus-infused soldier and shouted, "Release those restraints, now!"

"But-"

"Do it!" Gestahl shouted. Then he turned to the man who had taken the snowgirl infusion, dripping the water onto his forehead.

He was not expecting it to _freeze on contact._

The man opened his eyes, and the glass in Gestahl's hands began to tremble... and _chill_. In a shock, he set the glass down and leapt away as _blades of ice_ rocketed out of the glass, arcing in every direction and stabbing through one scientist's arm. Another came dangerously close to Gestahl's forehead, and a third rocketed right in front of the man who had received the succubus infusion.

He raised his hand - and every shouted as his fingernails _elongated into daggers_ before he lashed them against the ice, shattering it. He shot off the table, leaping clear across the lab and very near to the bulletproofed glass before turning to face the experiments, holding out his lengthened and sharpened nails like a weapon ready to strike. Now that he was upright, young Gestahl could see that his hair was significantly longer than when things had began.

"Calm down, soldier," Gestahl called. "We don't want to-"

A _crack_ of ice sounded nearby, and he turned and stepped away as the man who had received the snowgirl infusion began to _freeze over_. His short-cut hair arced into dreadlocks of frost as his hands were wrapped in spiked balls of ice, and the frost that had formed on his forehead glazed down over his eyes to form a battle visor of sorts. The ice reached the parts of his body beneath the restraints, and in a few moments the steel was chilled to brittle, shattering as he rose to an upright position

Gestahl glanced between the two infusees, trying to stay on guard. "Men, stand down!" he commanded.

The lights began to flicker, and everyone's gaze rose as the bulbs high above them began to _shatter_, glass by glass, completely at random. Gestahl's gaze went to the man who had received the witch infusion - he had remained mostly silent up until now, but his face was one of empty horror, as though he could see things none else could - or that he _should_ be seeing something that wasn't._  
><em>

_Nature_, Gestahl realized.

A shower of sparks connected with the man in the ice, and a shout of pain ripped through him as he lashed out, catching a scientist in the nose. Another shower hit the man with the nails, who hunched over in pain - and from his back emerged a pair of _jet black wings_. The witch-infused volunteer began to lash against his bonds, and the nearest scientist made his own decision, deactivating the restraints; the soldier quickly curled into a fetal position as though scared for his life.

The last bulb went out, leaving the lab in complete darkness.

Things were still for a long moment.

Then Gestahl pulled the soldier in the ice to his feet, and as Empire officials began to step into the room, the Emperor's son directed them. "Get this man to the yoko cells," he insisted, "they'll still be a blizzard in there." Pointing to the man with the witch infusion, he added, "Take him to the nearest park and cordon the area off, he needs nature and solitude, and HE needs a freaking drink." That last point was accompanied by a gesture towards the man who had taken the succubus infusion.

This project was an utter failure, and as the officials began to escort the volunteers, all Gestahl could think was _Father is going to kill me.__  
><em>

* * *

><p>Draco: Huge-ass artistic liberties with the procedure, don't try and lecture me about that one.<p> 


	4. Gestahlian Sonata

Draco: UGH. Life is presently hell. This is going to grate to a halt very quickly. On the bright side, I think I've switched my muscle memory from "Ghestal" to "Gestahl", so I shouldn't have any of those problems.

I only realize now that I just gave all three men infusions of monsters that are exclusively FEMALE. Succubus was intended, but the snowgirl and witch ones were just me not thinking.

Characters, weapons, origins, locations © Square Enix. Monsters © Akihisa Ikeda.

* * *

><p><strong>Gestahlian Sonata<strong>

"What is your verdict?"

Young Gestahl only groaned at his father's question, slumping back in his chair. The two were in an isolated room at the back of the lab as the scientists cleaned up the aftermath of the infusion experiments. Now that he had recovered from the shock of the experiment, he could deliver a clear analysis of the procedure - which still bore his negative opinion.

"I _can't_ say that the experiment was a _failure_," he admitted. "The goal was to get monster power, and we've _done_ that. But we were _so focused_ on _getting_ soldiers with monsters' abilities that I made _so_ many _obvious_ miscalculations. Restraining succubi is _torturous_. Snowgirls find room temperature _blazing_. Witches need nature or they start _panicking_." He shook his head. "I _just_ put our captives through that and forgot about it when the experiment came."

"Surely their discomfort during the procedure does not affect its success," the Emperor insisted.

"It's more than that," young Gestahl continued. "Monsters are _born and raised_ with their abilities and weaknesses. They have the _instincts_ necessary to keep their powers in check. Humans don't have _anything_ like that. We have _no way_ of training them for that, and even if we did, we don't have the _time_."

"The ice and the magic are difficult," Emperor Gestahl admitted, "but surely the man who received the succubus infusion can adapt to claws and wings?"

The door burst open, and both of them rose from their seats to see a soldier standing there. "Sir," he said promptly, "I have good news and bad news to report."

Young Gestahl sighed. "What's the bad news?"

"We took the man who received the succubus infusion to the wine cellar, to get a drink as you ordered," the soldier replied. "We found a soldier from the Theta Sector defensive squadron passed out in a puddle of Chaos Wave, and all the bottles of Demon Eye were empty in the barrel. The top had been torn off with a crowbar-"

"Have him discharged immediately," Emperor Gestahl interrupted.

"That's the good news, sir," the soldier insisted. "The soldier was killed before his infraction could be reported. It needn't ever be said a soldier under your command performed such a deed if you do not desire it."

"I don't think you were done with the bad news," young Gestahl observed.

"No, sir," the soldier admitted. "He was killed by a vine that speared through his heart. It emerged from nowhere, and then disappeared without a trace once his body had gone limp. The man with the infusion looked horrified. I handed him a bottle of Ruby Light and told him to find an isolated room."

"And you have good news to accompany that as well?" the Emperor asked.

The soldier tapped the badge on his uniform - for the emblem of the Gestahlian Empire upon the attire of its soldiers was always outfitted with a video camera, perpetually broadcasting footage to the systems of Vector, so the army would always have intel whether its men survived or not. "First data on the infusion results, sir."

Emperor Gestahl set a hand on his son's shoulder. "You'd best inspect that footage," he murmured. Then, to the soldier; "Thank you. Take the rest of the day off."

+x+x+x+

Weeks passed. The soldiers who had undergone infusions _tried_ to adapt to their newly granted strengths and weaknesses, but to no avail. Young Gestahl's initial observation had been their fresh forms; once the transformations had taken hold, everything was so much _worse_.

The volunteer for the snowgirl infusion could hardly _stand_ being outside the blizzard cells for longer than six minutes, and his hair had become perpetually encased in ice; the only meals he could consume were those that could be eaten at Narshean temperatures (though he did find frozen watermelon to be significantly more appetizing than normal, that was one bright spot on a very _dark_ situation). The succubus-infused soldier was unable to stay in so much as a _room with a closed door_ without panicking, and controlling the claws and wings became more difficult and more painful with every passing day; the vines, which were determined to be illusions given physical form, refused to appear unless he was particularly angered - in which cases he decidedly _did not want them to_ (but his hair was FABULOUS). The man with the witch infusion could hardly step back into Vector without suffering intense mental pain, and any attempts to utilize the power that came with the procedure was difficult at best; magic only came in minor, nearly unnoticeable unnaturalities (tree branches bending towards him as he passed, leaves kicking up in wind that wasn't there, the like).

Each of them had word delivered to the young Gestahl; and each of them bore the same core meaning.

_End it._

The warfront was no better. Battles ended in defeat. Soldiers were lost. Weapons failed to slay their targets. Emperor Gestahl could tell that there was no human army capable of defeating the monsters; the war's autumn was approaching, and fast.

Eventually, it was decided: the Gestahlian Empire would launch one last attack on the monsters' forces in the port city of Albrook, with everything they had. If the attack was successful, they would have back access to the seas; in failure, their role in this war would end.

Young Gestahl was pacing the empty laboratory, restless. It was the day before the army would depart, and he knew as well as any of them did that their chances of success were slim at best and nonexistent at any other value. He had to do _something_ to increase their chances; but _what_?

A spark from nearby prompted him to come to a halt, taking a defensive stance; but the spark died down soon enough, revealing it to be only the confiscated wand of their captive witch. He had taken precautions to ensure their monstrous prisoners were not _slain_ - little _lethal_ threat was held by the succubus' prison or the witch's cell, but he had needed ensure the temperature of the snowgirl's cell was routinely decreased so as to not let the heat outright _kill_ her. Now, however, the wand caught his eye; slowly, he stepped towards it.

Their attempts to analyze the wand had ended in failure.

The artifact sparked again - and a realization struck the young Gestahl's mind.

"That's it," he said aloud, to no one. "That's why it hasn't been working. Oh, _Feymarch_, **that**'s what we've been missing!"

He grabbed the casting tool from its perch, taking off through the lab. No sooner had he left the room than he collided with one of the Empire's officials, who seemed to be idle himself. Upon recognizing Gestahl, he promptly stood at attention. "Can I help you, sir?"

"As it happens, you can," Gestahl admitted. "I need a convertible, a horse-drawn cart, a freezer truck, a nail file, every functional Leviath weapon we have, and a big black cauldron."

"Is this really the time for whiskey?" the official asked.

Gestahl checked his watch. "Maybe in Gatrea," he admitted, "but I'm talking about the iron."

+x+x+x+

It took some desperate pleas and fancy promises for Emperor Gestahl to agree to his son's request; but ten minutes on foot from Albrook, the three monster-infused soldiers stood at the front of the Gestahlian troops. The convertible was parked perpendicular to the structure; the succubus-empowered soldier was in the back seat with his nails extended, and was currently trying to draw his wings without hurting anyone - himself included. The horses had drawn the cart so that the witch-magic soldier could exit from the back, and the freezer truck was backed up next to it, with the snowgirl-infused soldier inside and the door presently closed.

It was daybreak, and now the Emperor's son stepped forward, beckoning for the men to open the bay doors on the freezer truck.

"Gentlemen. On this day, the Gestahlian Empire takes one final gamble for victory. There you can see the port city of Albrook Occupied by mermaids and slug monsters, as present. If we cannot win this fight, the war's autumn is upon us. If we cannot win this fight, the Gestahlian Empire ends.

"So let us win this fight."

He raised one hand and snapped his fingers, prompting three men to step up from behind the vehicles and hand each of the infusion victims a tool. The nail file was tossed into the back seat of the convertible, and the succubus-infused soldier picked it up and absently began to file his nails; the witch's wand was set upon the edge of the cart, whereupon the witch-infused victim picked it up with a gaze of reverence; and before the freezer truck was piled a collection of Leviath ballistics, prompting the snowgirl-infused soldier to step to the edge of the truck.

"I know that each of you has suffered. I understand that I am to blame. I have it on record that each of you has begged me to slay you, as an act of mercy. Yet even as I try to submit the order, I cannot sentence to death men who have done me no wrong. So today, I provide each of you with a chance. A chance to claim both the glory you deserve, and the death you desire."

Young Gestahl reached for his hip, drawing a small pistol loaded with a single shot.

"You are soldiers, are you not!?"

Then he turned his body, keeping one foot pointed at his victims as he raised the pistol to the city of Albrook and fired. The shot flew through the air and pierced a window in the port city, bringing the monsters within to attention of the men waiting not ten minutes away.

And the man who had fired turned back to his men.

"Your battle is over - all that is left is to fight to your hearts' content. Our goal is these monsters' heads!"

The man with the file raised it above his head like a dagger. "I'm in!"

The man with the wand leapt out of the cart like a child on Halloween. "Same here!"

The man with the ice picked up a Leviath shotgun, strapping the supply to his back. "If I'm going to burn, I'll do it in Abburoth!"

On the horizon, the monsters' forces had begun to mobilize, and the soldiers with not but Feymarch's warriors in their rounds began to ready their weapons.

Young Gestahl raised his hand skyward. "Hell yeah?"

"**_HELL YEAH!_**"

Then he turned to face their opponents, throwing his hand forward. "Hell yeah."

A tear of flesh heralded a scream of pain and pleasure as the wings tore from the succubus soldier's back - knocking out the driver of the convertible - and he took off into the air, flying towards their opponent soldiers. The man with the witch's wand lashed it forward, and the earth beneath his feet propelled him forward like a yoko's fire. The volunteer who was ready to burn fired his weapon once, sending forth a spray of pressurized water with all the force of a bullet; the moment the spray had parted, it _froze_, forming a series of sharpened blades, and he prepared to charge forward to lead the soldiers of the Gestahlian army.

Young Gestahl grinned as his father approached him. "Good Bahamut, I hope this works," the Emperor mused.

"I swear to you, Father," his son insisted, "this will not be the end of your Empire."

A moment of silence.

"What plans have you if this battle succeeds?" Emperor Gestahl asked.

The question caused young Gestahl to pause and think. "I'd rather not take the risks with hair samples again," he mused.

A long moment of quiet.

"But perhaps... we could try it with blood?"

* * *

><p>Draco: Shorter than it ought be, but I <em>really<em> don't feel like writing a war sequence. And with this, my initial burst has ended.


	5. Toxic

Draco: Quick warning, I was in a fairly dark mood and had recently watched a couple recent X-Men movies when I began to write this. I cannot guarantee it will be of pleasant disposition.

Characters, weapons, origins, locations © Square Enix. Monsters © Akihisa Ikeda.

* * *

><p><strong>Toxic<strong>

"Men, you may begin."

After the (very successful) battle at Albrook, Gestahlian soldiers were once again willing to take part in the monstrous infusion experiments. Though the initial three subjects had been killed in the battle, it was only after the bulk of the enemy force had first been struck down; this left the heat of Ifrit, the chill of Shiva, and the bolts of Ramuh to finish off the enemy forces.

Most of their foes were slain, left to time's ravages; but a single slug monster and a single mermaid had been captured for the young Gestahl's experiments, imprisoned in his custom cages, and a single specimen was enough.

Hoping for a different result with different samples, the Emperor's son had decided to use blood infusions for this experiment. Deducing that the dual-wave "stabilization" technique was the main cause for the excessive sensitivity for their previous test subjects, they decided with single-dose infusions, injected at the veins. Young Gestahl decided not to make a presentation of the procedure this time, although that did not stop the Emperor and a small handful of officials from observing the infusions.

Having determined slug monster and mermaid to be too _inhuman_ in form for soldiers to adapt to, they stuck with their initial three monstrous subjects; and now, Gestahl stood before the volunteers, watching as the blood samples were injected into their soldiers.

A long moment of silence.

Then the man with the succubus and witch infusions shot upright, giving nearly-synchronized gasps of horror. Gestahl turned to them, warily, as the men began to writhe in place. _Oh,_ _damn it,_ his mind rambled,_ blood was a bad idea, wasn't it?_

Ice coated one man's hair as his hands were wrapped in icy claws.

Wings tore out of the other's back as his fingernails sharpened.

_Yeah, it was,_ Gestahl realized. "Take cover!" he barked to the scientists.

"No!" one of the men shouted. As Gestahl turned, he forced, "I got this!"

A pause; then Gestahl's eyes went wide as the ice _melted_, and the wings began to _withdraw_.

"Holy shit," one of the scientists exclaimed.

The man who had been in the ice set a hand on his forehead. "Brain freeze."

"Damn, that hurts," murmured the other, reaching for his back. "But, yeah, I think this is manageable."

Gestahl grinned at the results. He reached one hand for a glass of water, setting it in front of the snowgirl-infused soldier. "Take this to the cold rooms, see what you can do with it," he mused. Turning to the succubus-infused volunteer, he added, "You head to our designated park and start trying those things out." The two men took off towards their given destinations, and he quickly dismissed the scientists, waiting until the room was empty.

Then he faced the last test subject, the man who had received the witch infusion, and stepped towards him. The man had a hand to his head, realizing that nothing was breaking, he rose to an upright position, glancing around until he laid eyes on Gestahl.

"How do you feel?" Gestahl asked.

The man glanced down. "I have a weird urge to play cards," he mused.

"No... weird sense of pain?"

"Nothing."

Gestahl handed him the witch's wand. "How about now?"

The man held it in his hand for a moment; then he shook his head. "Still nothing."

This prompted a sigh from Gestahl, his shoulders slumping as he took the wand back. "I was afraid of this. You head to the gambler's room. Inform me if you feel any different experiences from normal... but you should be fine."

The soldier left.

The Emperor stepped inside in his place.

"What are the results?" he asked.

"The snowgirl and succubus infusions seem to have worked," young Gestahl replied. "In fact, I'm not _entirely_ sure the former needed to go to the cold rooms. I just didn't want him panicking if it was a delayed thing like the last ones. However, the witch is not a viable option for blood infusions."

Emperor Gestahl blinked. "What do you mean?"

His son shook his head. "Nothing," he replied. "He didn't have any reaction to this place, and the wand didn't do anything for him. I should have known. Witches don't run on the same rules as other monsters do."

"Excuse me?" the Emperor asked.

"Witches aren't... well... they're not really _monsters_," young Gestahl explained. "They're just... _not_ _human_." At his father's confused expression, he continued; "They're sort of halfways. Beings of the borderline between man and beast. We class them with monsters because monsters fight on the same team, but they don't have the same _essence_ of monster that most others do."_  
><em>

"Then... how do you explain the previous infusion process working?" Emperor Gestahl asked.

"Hair is the most magical part of a witch," was the response. "I've seen some footage where witches were using their hair like... I dunno, whips or something. Witch hair is linked directly to their brain, which is where the core concept for most _on-command_ magic originates. But the rest of their bodies aren't _monstrous_. That's why this infusion failed."

Young Gestahl turned away. "The men were alright. If they're still in stable condition by tomorrow, I'd like to try again. How many volunteers do we have ready?"

+x+x+x+

Experiments continued to be successful. Though the first couple rounds repeated witch infusions, these resulted in no empowerment (although they each reported slight behavioural differences, it was nothing of any offensive use). The succubus and snowgirl infusions, however, continued to not only succeed with minimal difficulties, but _exceed_ expectations. The ice-infused men did not require any need to reside in the chilled zones of the palace (though they found the blizzard cells more comfortable); ice was formed with much more _variety_, and with much greater _ease._ The succubus-infused soldiers felt no pain from containment, and their transformations were of minimal pain - a _vast_ improvement over the previous attempt.

Their soldiers bore all the monsters' strengths, and none of their weaknesses.

Their next strike was on Tzen, where the main body of the succubus army waited. The fight was won with _immense_ ease - in part due to the fact that their enemies were not expecting _monstrous_ opponents, and in part due to the fact that their seductive abilities didn't _work_ on half of their strongest fighters. The snowgirls of Tzen fared no better; both armies were forced to retreat once the battle got going.

With their home continent relinquished from monstrous forces, the Gestahlian Empire was free to move out and continue to strike. The war continued in shocking victory, prisoners taken every time they found a new variety of opponent. The werewolves in Jidoor, the thunder beasts in Kohlingen, South Figaro's trolls and crow tengu - the war was turning in humanity's favour. With different infusions of soldier for each new capture, even the yoko of Narshe fell with relative ease - though a constant torrent of icewater was necessary to keep them imprisoned, they managed it (with help from their snow-fairy soldiers, of course).

Then they launched an attack on Doma.

And that was when things began to fall apart.

+x+x+x+

How does one fight against a foe who needs not even move to strike?

As soldiers both infused and armed approached the castle of Doma, their attack was seen coming from the moment it began. The men and women within, an army of both witches and sorcerers, were not on any visible patrol; indeed, most of their soldiers were inside, playing roulette and drinking Black Cauldron whiskey - including their _commander_.

The only alert they had was a single woman in the corner, gazing into a small pool of water as though bored. Yet that was all they needed; for at the instant the Gestahlian soldiers began to move out, her gaze rose to the commander who sat nearby. "Sir," she called, "we have enemy forces approaching."

"Big deal," the commander shrugged, not even turning her way. "Deploy the defenses."

The diviner lowered her gaze to her pool again; then her eyes went wide, and she looked up to face him again. "Sir," she warned, "it's the empire 'Gestahl'."

The commander turned to her suddenly. "You mean... _Gestahl_ Gestahl?"

A nod.

"Shit," he murmured, turning away; then he got to his feet, his glass forgotten in his hand, and started calling the soldiers to arms.

+x+x+x+

The Imperial troops were rather impressed to find that the Castle of Doma was _very_ heavily fortified - despite the lack of vanguard forces on their way in, the stone walls seemed to be impenetrable, and attempts for the succubus-infused troops to fly over their walls were met with winds that knocked them earthward, as though Bahamut was flying on the other side.

The doors opened, and a lone man stepped out, with a long robe decorated in golden sigils. The door closed behind him, and he glanced over the men.

"You must be Gestahlian troops," he mused.

The soldiers snickered, exchanging amused glances as their commander, a man named Piette, stepped forward. "Took the yoko at Narshe longer than that," he mused. "Of course, they covered up _what they were_ a little better." Beckoning at the robe, he mused, "Not exactly disguise material, is it?"

"Who said anything about a disguise?" the sorcerer mused. "I'm not gonna hide from you."

Piette shook his head. "No, they weren't _hiding_," he replied. "They were trying to catch us off-guard. It worked the first time."

He raised his weapon.

"You don't have that advantage."

The trigger was pulled.

The sorcerer was lit from below by a blazing sigil, and the doors slammed closed behind him as the bullet tore through his chest. The man only lifted his mouth into a grim smirk as the life began to drain from his body - and into the arcane runes below him - and Piette had only time to realize _what_ that glow was going to do before it _exploded_, consuming him and the nearest five soldiers in murderous blue hellfire.

The doors opened again, and a legion of witches and sorcerers poured out as the Gestahlian troops began to attack.

+x+x+x+

"What the hell do you _mean_ it went _poorly?_"

Young Gestahl's blazing rage was a sharp contrast to his father's expression of tranquil fury as the report came in over the video feed from the soldier before him - one of six men who had survived the attack on Doma. _"All our infusees were slain in battle,"_ the soldier insisted. _"Most of our armed troops, as well. We have, like, one of each clip and three Leviath arms left. The rest of the weapony was spent or destroyed."_

"Son of a _bitch,_" the Emperor's son muttered. "How may prisoners?"

_"None,"_ the soldier replied. _"Every time we thought we could capture one, they would use their life energy to fuel their magic. Some of them were summoning things, with it, even. All we have is corpses without **any** energy, and papers covered in magic symbols."_

"Ba-ha-mut..." young Gestahl groaned. A few moments passed before he turned to his father. "I'm gonna go speak with the scientists," he mused, stepping out of the room. "Make sure they keep those papers." The Emperor nodded, and as he left young Gestahl could hear his father issuing the command. They would send an airship to Doma to supply enough troops to guard the castle; the men who brought the airship back could bring the cargo back.

As though on cue, one of the scientsts approached him as he started towards the laboratory. "Sir," he mused, matching his pace to the young Gestahl's, "we have the test results from the new Bahamut rounds you requested." He held out the clipboard. "Everything seems to be in working order."

"Let me see that," Gestahl mused, taking the clipboard without his pace faltering.

"We'll still need a field round in order to determine how effective they'll be against monstrous forces," the scientist mused, "but other than that-"

He was cut off when the Emperor's son thrust the clipboard in his face. "This will do," he said firmly. "Get the lab ready for infusions, and find as many volunteers as we have. We move out for Mobliz in a week, and the spells in Doma took down every infused soldier we had. I want an army each of yoko, thunder beasts, werewolves, trolls, and tengu infused by tomorrow, and all of them armed with enough Bahamut rounds to make Deathgaze fall before he can flee by the time we move out."

The scientist was shocked at Gestahl's orders. As he started to take off, the scientist tried to dissuade him. "Sir, we've taken the blood for one, _maybe_ two infusions, every day to make sure they don't die of blood loss before we finish this war. But they're _mortal beings._ They don't _have_ enough blood to fuel an _army_ **each**."

"Then take what blood they have left," Gestahl insisted, his voice cold. "And have a legion of each by tomorrow. I'm not going to let this war fall to autumn when we are on the edge of spring."

He turned away, leaving the scientist in the hallway; after a moment, the man took off towards the lab to inform the men there.

* * *

><p>Draco: Another short one, but things get serious next round.<p> 


	6. The 6th Kingdom

Draco: I'm going to be entirely honest with you, I will forever have the vocal intro of this track imprinted into my mind.

Characters (bar three), weapons, origins, locations © Square Enix. Monsters (and three characters) © Akihisa Ikeda.

* * *

><p><strong>The 6th Kingdom<strong>

A week after the siege of Doma, the Gestahlian Empire had an airship flying straight for Mobliz. Every soldier inside had received monstrous infusions - yoko, thunder beasts, trolls, werewolves, and crow tengu - and everyone was armed with a machine gun loaded with Bahamut rounds, as well as a handgun with like ammunition. Young Gestahl was on board as well; though the Emperor waited at the Imperial Palace, his son was determined to see this fight to its end _himself_.

"Alright," he said to the men. "You're going to drop into the Veldt. On foot, you should be six minutes away from Mobliz, tops. Withhold all speed until the opposition begins to retaliate. I'm going to be honest with you - we have no idea what's in there. We have no idea what they can do. But _damn_ it, we are not going to let them take us down. That's why you bear Bahamut. We will not lose this war. Am I clear?"

Every man on board saluted at once. "Yes, sir!"

Gestahl nodded. "Then let's take these sons of bitches down."

He slammed his fist into the release for the bay doors, and the men turned, leaping out of the ship as a synchronized unit. The troll-infused soldiers leapt first, diving straight for the plains of the Veldt; yet they were not the first to strike earth, despite the weight in their forms. No sooner had their volted troops left the airship than their bodies were turned to lightning, and they hit the earth as bolts from a cloudless sky, monstrous by the time they had physical form again. Upon nearing that earthen surface, each of the mountain soldiers arced into a cannonball, letting their transformations surge out; by the time they hit the ground, they were fully formed - and the _Veldt_ came off worse for it.

The blazing troops leapt out behind the thunder beasts, flames lashing out to form their tails as they free-fell towards the earth; upon nearing the plain, infernos ripped up around them to slow their falls as they touched down on the earth. Their night and raven soldiers leapt out in alternating formation, their transformations beginning from the moment they dove - each tengu infusee lowering his legs for a werewolf volunteer to cling to - and their falls slowly transformed into glides as they landed at the front of ready forces.

Upon ensuring everyone was present, the forces of the Gestahlian Empire began to march on the town of Mobliz.

+x+x+x+

A soldier wandering the - now nearly empty - prison halls of the Imperial Palace found himself bored. Without knowing what monsters resided at the Veldt town, they couldn't risk soldiers without the monstrous infusions - only their five legions had taken off to the Veldt, and the soldier who normally bore Feymarch's arms now were left to guard Vector.

A clatter from a cell nearby caused him to turn in confusion. Checking the number on the door, he realized this was the witch cells - full artificial imprisonment designed to isolate them from nature. Their only witch prisoner was the little girl, one of their first captures. Deciding she must have become bored, he only turned away and started to walk again.

The same rattle against the door, sharper this time.

The soldier turned, reaching for his belt - where a revolver loaded with six Bahamut rounds waited. Disturbance again, this time almost like something slamming against it; the soldier promptly stepped towards the door, preparing his weapon to fire should the door show the slightest falter.

Something tore through the door and struck him in the forehead.

It was a tarot card - _XX Judgement_.

Then the door burst from its hinges, and the soldier had not time to yell before it crushed him against the wall, red staining the wall around the edges.

Out of the cell emerged the witch; a deck of tarot cards in one hand, and the snowgirl's coolant lollipop in the other.

"_Where_ is my **god**_ damn **wand?**_"

An siren blared over her head, and she turned to see that her door had been linked to an alarm. An irritable growl passed through her lips as she stormed down the halls. _First things first. I've got to free the others... if there _**_are_**_ still any others._ A disturbing number of empty presences - empty _monstrous_ presences - had passed her cell, and now she feared for her allies.

With swift movements, she headed further down the cells, looking for any others. It wasn't long before she came across a series of cells lined with dials - one of them was turned nearly as high as it could, and from within she could hear a series of pained whimpers.

"There she is! That witch!"

The witch in question turned towards the sound of the voice to see a series of soldiers rounding the corner. Quickly, she turned the dial as low as it would go before diving into the nearest empty cell to avoid the men's shots. Slowly, the men stepped forward, bracing their revolvers in hand, ready to fire at a moment's notice - but with their attention on the witch, they failed to notice door to the lone occupied cell slowly wrapping with the faintest layers of frost.

A card flew out of the room.

The men fired.

And the door _shattered_, fragments of brittle steel striking their opponents unconscious.

The cell was filled with frosty mist as the snowgirl stumbled out, her body covered in cold sweat. The witch stepped out of the empty cell, and the two monsters stood facing each other for a long moment; then the witch smirked, turning the coolant-candy in hand and holding it out to her.

"Mizore."

"Yukari."

The snow fairy accepted the candy, setting it into her mouth - and in a moment her hair was streaked with ice as frozen claws formed around her hands. "Where's Kurumu?" she asked. "You should have passed her cell on the way here."

"I didn't see her," Yukari insisted. "The windows for the succubus cells were all blacked out. I'd just waste time if I went through each one."

Mizore nodded. "Alright. They'll have your wand in the lab. On our way in, wasn't it?" Yukari nodded. "You go get that. I'll free Kurumu. Don't think anyone else will still be alive, but keep an eye out for any occupied cells."

"You got it."

The two took off down the hall, Mizore breaking off halfway through the succubus cells. Yukari didn't cease her dash - she knew full well what kind of imprisonment these Gestahlians would have concocted for a succubus and was not entirely eager to see it - and instead only kept running until she arrived at the laboratory. A lone scientist was there, but she managed to silence him by grabbing the nearest solid object and slamming it against his head. She found her wand on a back table and picked it up, relieved to have _her casting tool_ back at last; a witch without a magic object is helpless, and she had only been fortunate that Mizore's candy had used arcana for its chill.

Meanwhile, Mizore was presently fighting through the displeasure of Kurumu's imprisonment. Mythril cable bound the succubus' arms and legs into a vulnerable _X_ formation, and arced around her stomach and chest as well; her skin was already bruised from her trying to fight it. Her eyes were blinded; her ears were covered; her mouth was gagged. Only after resisting the urge to be very sick was Mizore able to reach forward, her claws of ice cutting through the earmuffs that silenced the world around her.

Kurumu began to thrash against her binds; yet only two words from Mizore silenced her.

"_It's me._"

The cold breath on her ear brought her movements to a halt; quickly, the snow fairy clipped the gag and let it fall, and the succubus sucked in a starved breath before speaking.

"Mizore?"

"Yes," Mizore insisted. "Hold still, I need to get your bonds free." She pulled the candy from her mouth and set the stick between Kurumu's lips, whispering, "Hold this and don't touch flavour." Kurumu understood immediately, her teeth grasping the stick, and Mizore let her claws melt as she got to work.

Sweat quickly broke out on her face, and she set her hands against her forehead to gather the moisture before setting them against Kurumu's leg binds. A moment passed briefly; then the cables began to chill, causing Kurumu to gasp - though she managed to keep her teeth on the coolant. A few moments; then ice wrapped her hands in claws as she shattered the now-brittle mythril, causing it to fall in pieces and allowing Kurumu's legs to touch the floor. She repeated the process with the wraps on the succubus' arms, and then the wraps around her chest and stomach; once she was free, the snow fairy then took the candy from Kurumu's teeth and reached for the blindfold.

"No, don't," Kurumu insisted. "I need to do this myself."

Mizore pulled her hand away, setting the candy against her tongue and letting it chill her again.

Kurumu's breath was shaky as she reached for the wrap around her eyes; after a moment, she managed to loosen the knot enough to slip the cloth off her head, her eyes flickering open after being unused for how long now. Her vision was blurry at first; when Mizore's face was clear, she couldn't help but step forward and put her arms around the snow fairy, relieved.

There was a brief moment of suffocation shortly before Yukari came back to find them.

+x+x+x+

"Enemy troops marching toward us on the Veldt."

The monsters in Mobliz were men and women in blood red business suits. At the patrol's warning, their leader - a woman with hair like a snow fairy - made her way to the roof he stood upon, looking out towards their opponents.

"Those can't be enemy troops," she insisted, turning back to the patrol. "I see mountain trolls and werewolves."

"They bear the emblem of the Gestahlian Empire," the patrol insisted, handing her a pair of binoculars.

The leader grabbed the scope angrily, peering towards the marching soldiers - and indeed they did bear the emblem in question. She lowered the pair curiously, handing them back to their owners. _Betrayers? No... that can't be. They would never..._

A pause; then her eyes slipped closed, and she bowed her head as her hair began to move in a wind that was not there.

A shocked yelp escaped her lips, and her eyes shot open as she stepped back.

"Those are ghouls," she muttered. "The empire Gestahl made Odin-damned ghouls!" Turning to the patrol, she shouted, "Sound the alarm and have every soldier ready to fight! And get someone to distract them until we get out there!"

"Yes, ma'am," the patrol replied, turning back to the marching foes as she leapt off the roof. He leaned out and tapped a box dangling on the rim of the roof, prompting a bat to fly out; with but a few words, it took off towards the main concentration of soldiers, and the patrol quickly leapt off the roof, taking off out of town and flexing his body to make sure nothing had gone stiff that he needed.

The Imperial soldiers saw the man walk out of Mobliz and exchanged glances; then one of the tengu troops dashed ahead of the crew, stepping towards the lone man. "Hey there!" he called, his voice steeped in false friendliness. "How's things going around-"

The man lashed out with a roundhouse kick, sending the soldier _flying back about twenty paces._

A resounding _crack_ echoed beneath the soldier's scream; the troops exchanged glances before drawing their machine guns, loaded with Bahamut clips. A werewolf soldier rushed forward, appearing ten paces away from their opponent. "Well then," he reprimanded, "you're not exactly in a frien-"

A knifehand swing prompted the Imperial to move, retreating ten paces away again. "Woah there," he insisted. "You don't need to be so vi-"

The monster thrust out an open palm, prompting the soldier to arc around and land behind him, drawing his revolver. "Fine then," he insisted, "no banter."

He drew the hammer on his weapon.

The opponent kicked back.

The soldier went around - and landed with his neck _in his foe's grasp_.

A moment's pause; then the patrol _crushed_ the soldier's neck _in one hand._

The nearest yoko soldier turned to the men. "Fire."

Each of the men opened fire on their opponent, who threw the werewolf ghoul at the shots. The moment each bullet connected, the flesh around the impact _waved out_, like an impact on water - in a few moments, the soldier was nonexistent, and the Mobliz patrol had to kick the fallen tengu soldier into the firestream order to block the next set of shots.

"So that's what the new ones do," he mused.

Then he set one fist into his palm, and each _crack_ of his knuckles sent power flaring out around him.

+x+x+x+

A dining hall resided immediately behind the Imperial Throne room. Two soldiers attempted to bar their way, but Kurumu only sliced them with her claws, leaving them to fall to the ground - wounded, but not dead. Mizore quickly turned their spilled blood into binds against the ground, and Yukari struck them in the head with her wand to knock them out for good measure.

"No magic?" Kurumu asked.

"Can't do much in a city like this," Yukari admitted. "Not enough spirits. All I can really manage is my tarot cards."

Mizore only rolled her eyes, wrapping her hands in ice again. The throne room was empty, but upon seeing the door to the throne room, the three of them only struck it down. Emperor Gestahl was sitting at one end of the table, with a wineglass to his lips; upon seeing the three girls, he nearly sprayed his drink all over the table - though he managed to stop himself with a hand to his lips. Quickly, he set his glass upon the table and grabbed the bottle, checking the label; then he swallowed hard, facing the girls again.

"Is this a misstep in the cell design?" the Emperor asked of the monsters. "Or simply a failure to disarm?"

Kurumu spread her wings, Mizore held out a hand wrapped in ice, and Yukari threw her deck of tarot cards into the air. The wine left in Gestahl's glass froze, arcing into a series of icy blades that aimed at various vital organs; with a wave of her wand, Yukari's cards flew forward, pinning him to his chair without a scratch; and Kurumu quickly flew forward, dragging his chair away from the table.

"That was some really good wine," Gestahl protested.

The other girls dashed past the table as Kurumu snapped her fingers - with some difficulty, given her claws. Vines tore out of the floor and roof, binding Gestahl in a vulnerable _X_ position as Mizore raised her ice claws to his neck and Yukari levitated her cards around his head.

"You're going to get us out of here," the snow fairy insisted. "Safely."

Gestahl closed his eyes, a light snicker passing through his lips. "Highly doubtful."

The door burst open, and the girls circled the Emperor, keeping him between them and the legion of soldiers that burst through the door, revolvers raised.

"You want to so much as _touch_ us?" Kurumu threatened. "You go through him first!"

A moment's passage; then the soldiers loosed a volley of weak laughs, exchanging half-hearted gazes.

Then they all raised their revolvers again.

Kurumu's bravado vanished.

"My son told you, did he not?" the Emperor asked. "There is no human soldier in this world who is not willing to die if it means taking a monster with him."

The men stepped forward.

"Permission to open fire, my liege."

His voice was heavy, but set; Gestahl only bowed his head, his eyes closed.

"Permission granted."

+x+x+x+

"This is _not good_."

Young Gestahl was watching the battle at Mobliz from the airship. "We're losing troops. We're losing _w__erewolves_ and _yoko_. How the _hell_ are we _losing troops_? What the _hell_ **are** these guys?"

"Sir," the pilot called, turning Gestahl's attention. "We have an alert from Vector."

Irritated, Gestahl stormed up to the cockpit, slamming his hand to activate the video feed. "Someone better be dying," he threatened.

He regretted his words immediately - the soldier on the monitor had his hands closed behind his back, and his helmet was removed from his head.

"It's... not in progress... my liege."

The way he addressed young Gestahl made it _pointedly_ clear who - his father had been slain, and now _he_ was in charge of the Gestahlian Empire.

Gestahl slumped into the copilot's seat. "No..."

A crackle over the radio sounded, and Gestahl's attention turned to the speaker as a woman's voice sounded; _"Gestahlian Imperial flight vessel, respond."_

"Dismissed, soldier," Gestahl said to the monitor, shutting down the video feed; then he set his hand upon the transmitter. "This is Emperor Gestahl. Who are you?"

The response came before too long._ "I am the leader of the monsters your forces are - or, rather, **were** fighting. Your troops have fallen. We have exactly one man of each variety who is still alive. They are imprisoned. If you intend to live to see this war end, land your vessel and speak with me face to face."_

A growl passed through Gestahl's lips; then he directed the pilot to earth. "We'll be thirty-six paces from Mobliz," he told the woman. "I don't trust myself not to wreck anything and still come any closer. Meet me there, alone. Or with the prisoners you have taken. The only man with me is my pilot."

+x+x+x+

The woman who waited for them was in what appeared to be a bright red _bathrobe_ when they landed - and she was alone.

"You're not going to tell me I _woke you up_ with my attack, are you?" Gestahl demanded.

The woman set a hand on her forehead. "Ah... Maybe a little bit?"

"It was _noon_ when my soldiers dove from our ship," Gestahl stated firmly.

"And you attack us with werewolves?" his opponent asked.

Gestahl grinned; he would allow himself this pride. "Infusees," he replied. "Monstrous blood, injected into soldiers willing to turn the tide of war."

The monster woman shook her head. "You make ghouls of your men?"

"We needed to give the abyss a reason to gaze back," Gestahl replied. "What do you want."

"I understand that this war between mankind and monsterdom was... unprovoked," the woman insisted. "My kind can usually dissuade monsters from beginning such struggles, but by the time we were aware of this war all we could do was defend ourselves. But you have slain those monsters who were willing to fight. Witches. Sorcerers. Snow fairies. Succubi. Slug monsters. Mermaids. Yoko. Trolls. Tengu. These races fought in this war, not because they as a kind desired to, but because the actions of few dragged them into it. But you have dissuaded them, if they still live. You were not aware of our desire to _not. Fight._ You attacked Mobliz under the reasonable assumption that monsterdom as a whole partook in this war. From this, we take no offense."

Gestahl bowed his head kindly. "I am pleased to find my opposition is reasonable enough to understand."

The woman's mouth twitched upward. "And as such, I am willing to offer you a deal," she replied. "You have slain but a small portion of each race that has participated in this war. But if word emerges that _my_ kind engaged so willingly in battle, the war will begin anew - a war that I am certain you have no hope of winning. As it stands, we have no desire to make such engagements. So I offer you this.

"Agree to end this war. Here and now. You will return the lands you have conquered to their inhabitants of mankind, and monsterdom will fade. If we so much as remain _in this world_, you have my word that we will do so covertly. Peacefully. This war will not be repeated."

Gestahl lowered his gaze to the Veldt's earth.

"If you do not agree," the woman replied, "then we will retaliate. I will slay you here and now. Monsters will once again war with humans - and this time, you will have no blood to aid your conquest."

A long moment's pause.

"I have two questions for you," Gestahl said firmly, "and only a fool's error on your behalf would make their answer affect mine."

The woman nodded. "Ask away."

"Earlier," Gestahl prompted, "you referred to my infused soldiers as 'ghouls'. What do you mean by that?"

"The act of injecting humans with blood of monsters is hardly a fresh field, Emperor," the woman replied, "though I believe you are the first human to instigate it without a willing monstrous partner. My kind is the more frequent race to instigate it. It takes more than one attempt, however - and a human soul relinquishes its hold when our blood takes root. We refer to these soulless abominations as ghouls; eventually, the term spread to refer to any human injected with monstrous blood."

Gestahl lowered his head. "I see. And... what of the surviving soldiers you mentioned you had imprisoned?"

At this point, the woman averted her gaze, looking uncomfortable. "Are you aware yoko are capable of self-destruction?" she murmured. "It took your survivors and several of my finest men with it."

"This is no fault of yours," Gestahl stated, "and I understand that."

The woman turned to face him again. "Do you accept my offer of ceasefire?" she asked.

Gestahl bowed his head. "I do."

At this point, his opposition smirked - and Gestahl was astonished to see a _fang_ poke over her lower lip. "I am quite pleased to hear your wisdom, Emepror Gestahl."

"You're a _Nosferatu_," Gestahl realized, his gaze focused on the fang.

The woman reached for her mouth, realizing the ivory was exposed. "Er... yeah."

"Asura _damn it_..."

* * *

><p>Draco: I <em>can't<em> be the only one who's tried doing a Hannibal Chau "Where is my goddamn χ" quote, but I _dare_ you to picture Yukari Sendo using that line and not crack up. Manga _or_ anime. I won't judge. Much._  
><em>

Aiya... those three were just supposed to be a cameo in chapters 2 and 3, but then I wanted to do a breakout scene and was having trouble doing namelessness so I just said "Screw it" and picked up the news club rejectees.

This may seem kind of awkward next chapter, but this is the _last_ of the "prequel-to-the-prequel" chapters. Next round we get into something a little more gamey.

Also, no, I'm not in burst mode again. The top quarter of this was originally going to be the bottom half of Chapter 5 before I realized it flowed better this way.


	7. Following Forgotten

Draco: Long time, VI-ers.

Hey, just a heads-up, I've been doing K+C descriptions for FF character designs off Amano's artwork. It normally matches up, and I think I ignored for this one, but I'm not a hundred percent sure you can tell who this is if you're comparing sprites.

Characters, weapons, origins, locations © Square Enix. Monsters © Akihisa Ikeda.

* * *

><p><strong>Following Forgotten<strong>

Time passed.

Memories of the war between humans and monsters misted, faded, until such time that tomes of history which bore that record were considered tomes of myth. The men who had fought in that war lived at peace, and died at peace. True to the vampires' word, monsters vanished from the world; indeed, if any monsters survived, they were monsters of silence who showed not their true forms.

And the young Gestahl who had taken his father's throne aged, until his hair was white as Narshe's snow, and his eyes were heavy with undying memories of the war between mankind and monsterdom, the losses and the gains that had transpired.

Eventually, that despair turned to ambition - and despite his age, he found the strength to act on it.

+x+x+x+

"Hey, easy, easy!"

About a dozen men had their weapons levelled on a rather wiry figure in black garments, adorned with small, barely-there blue patterns. A small tuft of light brown hair jut out over one eyebrow from an otherwise all-concealing blue bandanna, and at his belt was hooked a small knife, which clattered against the rock he was cornered against.

The weapons in question were _rifles_, and there were few who would blame him for backing away.

"What the hell are you doing in our way, thief?" one of the gunmen barked.

"I'm no thief!" was the retaliation. Resting one hand on his knife's handle, he asked, "And where did you even get that accusation? I don't recall meeting any of you."

"We've been notified to capture anyone of sufficient notoriety," another man replied. "You're wanted for the theft of several crystal relics from the city of Jidoor."

The not-thief raised an eyebrow. "Crystal relics?" he mused. "The only thing I've ever stolen was a heart."

One gunman stepped forward, holding his rifle at arm's length - which meant the cornered one was arm's length away from the barrel. "So you admit stealing the Shiva Heart crystal relic?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" the accused protested. "I don't think I've even been to Jidoor."

"Enough of your lies, thief!" a fourth man snapped.

An irritable groan emerged from the 'thief'. "For the love of-"

He stepped forward and lashed out into a kick, knocking the barrel up with enough suddenness that the man didn't have time to move; the trigger was pulled, blasting a pebble above. That pebble was keeping a wooden platform at the right angle, and the shot caused it to move away, tipping the wood. Upon the wood was a massive boulder, the weight of which caused the surface to slide; and the accused quickly leapt aside, too fast for the men to fire, as the boulder tumbled and crushed eleven men most unceremoniously.

The last of them still had his rifle in hand, and he looked from side to side, trying to figure out where the thief had suddenly disappeared to - and was most concerned to see his hand close on the barrel from arm's length to one side.

"I'm a treasure hunter."

He yanked the rifle out of the man's hands, then thrust it into his nose with enough force to knock him to the ground.

A smirk rose on his face as he whirled the rifle in hand, firing the weapon into the air as he looked over the man's uniform. "No insignia," he mused curiously. "I don't _think_ they're imperial... but at the same time..."

_We won't stop until we say we're done...  
>We'll re-<em>

The music was abruptly cut off when the treasure hunter drew out his phone and flicked it open, raising it to one ear. "Lock, stock, and barrel."

_"Do you **have** to answer the phone like that?"_ a gruff voice protested.

"Hey, it keeps things vague," the hunter mused. "Anyone who doesn't know me doesn't know who's there."

A sigh. _"Don't you set different ringtones for different numbers?"_

"That's not gonna help much," he admitted. "What if you get mugged?"

_"Come on, Locke. The only one around here with the guts to mug me is you, and your loyalty gets in the way."_

Locke Cole rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Arvis. I'm on my way to Narshe," he informed, knowing the question was coming. "Got sidetracked by a couple guys with guns. Do Imperials wear their sigils these days?"

_"Not with their shock troops,"_ Arvis informed him. _"Want to keep things hidden if they run into something unfavourable."_

"Lovely," Locke groaned, setting the rifle down so he could lean on it. "I think I just took down their point squad. I'll be there in half an hour. Make sure everyone is-"

He cut himself off with a minor yelp as the weapon was yanked out from under him. The soldier was not as unconscious as he had thought, and now the rifle was levelled on Locke's torso.

"I'm gonna put you on hold," Locke mused, lowering the phone at his side.

"You're not picking that up, thief," the soldier snapped. "You're gonna hit end. Then I'm gonna pull this trigger and send you _right_ after my friends. You criminal, insane mother-"

He was cut off when something collided with his head and _razed flame over him_.

Locke gave a shout that could be heard in Zozo as the man's body went limp. The inferno tore through his skull with all haste, and he hadn't the time to scream before it tore into his vital organs.

His corpse fell to the ground.

The treasure hunter glanced at the weapon at his feet, then at the sky he had tired at.

_"Locke? Locke! What happened?!"_

Slowly, shakily, Locke raised the phone to his ear again. "Don't shoot Imperial guns at the sky."

Then he lowered it at his side and flicked it shut.

"Holy _shit_ I don't want to think about how close that was."

+x+x+x+

"Completely eliminated?"

The reporting soldier nodded. "Yes, sir. All the surveillance feeds were cut out. One of them survived longer than the others, but from what we got it was taken out by our own weapons."

Emperor Gestahl seethed angrily. This was their fifth attempt at sending shock troops to Narshe, but all of them had been eliminated before arrival. "Very well," he insisted. "Enough subtlety. Send in a full attack force. I want to know exactly what they're hiding in those mines. Understood?"

"Yes sir," the soldier confirmed, turning on his heel and starting towards the door.

After the briefest of moments, Gesthal turned in his throne, to lean across the arms in a fashion he had often fantasized about as a boy. "Cadet."

The man came to a stop with his hand on the knob, turning back to the Emperor. "Yes, sir?"

Gestahl glanced at the soldier from the corner of his eye, his lids drooping out of sheerest boredom.

"Send _her_, on point."

It was at this moment the cadet realized exactly _how badly_ Gestahl wanted his prize from Narshe, and slowly turned away. "Yes, sir," he assured the Emperor, and closed the door behind him.

+x+x+x+

"You've got to be kidding me."

Locke shook his head. "I'm not," he insisted. "The shot hit him in the head and his face melted before he could make a sound of his own volition. What in the world did you call me here for that you couldn't bring up over the phone?"

Arvis sighed. "We came across something in the mines, a while back," he replied. "It looked... demonic. _Otherworldy_, even."

"Go on."

"It was encased in ice," Arvis explained. "But it was ice that _burned_ at the touch. Not just cold enough that it felt like it at first; this was _real heat_. It had wings protruding from its back, adorned in feathers that alternated the colours of Feymarch's vanguard triad. Its face was murderous, with no lips to hide sharpened fangs, and a nose with hardly any flesh to guard it. The skin over its ribs was adorned with gaps - not cuts, but the natural way its flesh formed - and its neck was ridged like it was made for soud. Its hands and feet were arced into talons, and its eyes were white voids."

Locke drummed his fingers against his knife's handle. "Did you see it yourself," he asked, "or is that someone else's recount?"

Arvis shook his head. "I wouldn't relay it like that if it wasn't mine," he insisted. "I was with the crew that found it."

"Right," the treasure hunter murmured. "The colour on its wings... was it the natural colour?"

"What do you mean, 'natural'?"

"Was it flush with the feathers," Locke explained, "or were there... patches of something else?"

Arvis shook his head. "Right into it," he insisted. "I bet you could pluck one off, if it wasn't frozen, and it'd be coloured through."

Locke sighed. "Sounds like a siren, pushed to desperation," he admitted, "but their feathers are white. Sometimes a dark grey when they go feral." A pause; "I'd like to see for myself. Any chance I can get in there and have a look?"

"I don't think so," Arvis protested. "They're not letting civilians in there. They even got Ymir on guard in the deeper tunnels."

"Ymir?" Locke mused. "You mean that volt kid?" He had encountered the child on his last visit; a thunder beast, young by human years, that had been living deep in the mines of Narshe.

Arvis grinned. "That's the one," he mused. "We haven't managed to figure out what runs his form, so we don't know how to recede his transformation, but he's on guard past the first gate. Anyone who gets through it is in for a hell of a shock."

A light chuckle from Locke at Arvis' joke. "Alright," the treasure hunter mused. "I'm gonna head for Figaro and let them know. Call me if there's any trouble."

"Consider yourself called."

+x+x+x+

It was only a week after the thief's departure that it occurred.

The Narshean scouts reported a strange figure approaching the snow-dusted town. Arvis took a perch on a small walkway that linked the back of his home to an older mine, waiting for the newcomer to show herself. Given Locke's encounter with the Imperials, he had every right to be suspicious; yet he tried to tell myself it wouldn't be so dire. Surely one person couldn't be such a dangerous visitation... could it?

He caught sight of her before too long; a young woman in naught but a simple, short red dress, with tight, detached sleeves around her arms and flowing sashes from her waist. Her hair, shining emerald, was bound in a ponytail behind her, and upon her head was a simple golden circlet. Her feet were wrapped in red dress boots with gold trim; through they had a slight heel to them, it was nothing that would require extensive training.

It was her footfalls, however, that truly caught Arvis' attention. The way she walked was nothing extraordinary, if a bit more _militant_ than one would expect from a glance at her garments; but she left no prints in the snow. She wasn't walking _in_ the snow, her feet sinking into it and leaving a clear indentation; she was walking _upon_ the snow, leaving only the disturbance of contact, such that it would drift away from the slightest movement of the air.

The town elder emerged from a building nearby, causing the woman to come to a stop in the center of the town. "Might I ask your business here, Miss?" he demanded.

"...I am a dancer." The woman's voice was distant, such as one not accustomed to speaking. "I came here... hearing there had been... some sort of occurrence recently. That it had put... the people of the town... in a poor state of mind."

"Are you calling us fools?" the elder demanded, angry. Then, kinder; "Or... are you talking about the attitude of the townspeople?"

The dancer nodded. "Yes... I heard it had set... depression... into the people."

The elder hummed curiously. "And so you have come here hoping to lift our spirits, is that it?"

"...Would you like me to dance for you?" the woman asked. This was more practiced, as though it were a phrase she used often.

"Are you not tired from your journey?" the elder asked in return. "The trip here is a cold one. Perhaps you would like to rest?"

"I... have no need... of rest," the dancer replied, slow again.

The elder sighed. "Well, if you would, I'd like to see what you can do." He took a few steps back, providing her with some room in case her performance should necessitate it.

The woman waited for him to stop; then she took half a step backwards, angling her body such that her feet were perpendicular to one another.

She held one hand forward, palm skyward; and she raised the other hand skyward, palm forward.

A breath passed through her lips, forging a suddenly thick mist in the air as heat met chill.

From nowhere did music emerge, and the dancer quickly brought her body to twist, arcing into a spin as she gracefully swept low and then leapt into the air. She landed as lightly as she had walked, leaving not prints but merely disturbing the snow beneath her feet, before twirling on one foot with the other raised behind her back; one hand was out at her side, the other raised above her. One turn, two, three, then she leapt back, flipping forward before landed with her legs parted and one palm upon the snow, her momentum dragging her backwards slightly.

The surface beneath her feet was only lightly disturbed; yet the snow her hand skidded across was turned to _mist_, like water against hot metal._  
><em>

It was then that the dancer leapt again, lashing one foot into a kick to propel her body into a backwards flip, and a _bolt of fire_ emerged from the heel of her boot, flying forward.

The elder shouted, diving against the snow as the flame passed over his head. Arvis, from his perch upon the walkway, gave a yelp of horror and leapt away as the blaze slammed into the wood; the blast did not burn, but _exploded_, sending planks of the walkway falling into the snow on the path to the mines (though not enough that Arvis couldn't leap the gap if he saw fit).

The dancer landed in such a manner that could be used by a martial artist, striking a fallen foe; and a _wall of flame_ ripped through the snow immediately behind her, barring entrance to or exit from Narshe. From the buildings around the town emerged a series of guards, each man wrapped in white cloth to guard the chill and carrying a sharpened cane.

"Stand down!"

The woman only continued to dance, every movement of her limbs launching bolts of flame towards them. The guards tried to evade, tried to close in; but their canes were no match for the dancer's flames, and it wasn't long before they were each cast to the snows, their garments alight and their bodies lifeless.

Through the flames emerged two giant machines - humanoid in form, but draconic in appearance, each twice the size of the dancer - with armed soldiers atop them.

"That was so many levels of badass," one of the soldiers mused, glancing at the fallen guards.

"No kidding," the other agreed. Then, shouting to the dancer; "Hey, put the wall out!"

The fire behind them extinguished, revealing an array of soldiers standing there, armed.

One of the pilots on the machines stood up in his seat, catching sight of the mines and the wrecked walkway. "Alright," he mused, "everyone remember our orders?"

"Flare Dancer takes point," the other mech pilot recited. "Gibbs, you and me stay right behind and blast whoever tries to block the path. Everyone else, keep your shots loaded. Anything from the sides or the back gets pumped full of Ramuh."

"Yes, sir!" the soldiers called at once.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Deweg, I asked if you remembered, not for you to repeat them."

"Hey, don't act like it hurts the fight," Deweg protested, grasping his controls again. Gibbs only rolled his eyes and did the same.

The woman, Flare Dancer, only stepped forward, her footfalls without footprints militant once again. Several other guards tried to attack them - barring their way, sandwiching them from the sides, even trying to leap at them from the rooftops - but every last one of them was slaughtered mercilessly. Arvis saw all of this from his perch at the walkway; though none of the soldiers so much as glanced up, the woman seemed to take sight of him. To his fortune, she did not announce his presence to the soldiers.

"Gestahlian Imperial Magitek Armour," Arvis muttered as Gibbs and Deweg marched past. "Holy shit."

He quickly retreated into his home and dialed up Locke.

+x+x+x+

The mines were completely empty as the soldiers marched in. There was what seemed to be an unused minecart track, which was a relief; Magitek Armour could handle uneven terrain, but it was a significantly more difficult ride. Several troops were left to guard the entrance, but most of the soldiers continued further into the mines. They found a massive steel gate barring the way, only ten paces back; Deweg only huffed, cracking his knuckles.

"Leave this to me," he insisted.

Flare Dancer stepped away, coming to a stop between the legs of Gibbs' mech as Deweg moved his forward. Rather than firing his beams, he only brought the arms of his mech back before lashing them both forward at the same time; the entire gate was pried from its hold on the walls of the cave, flying further in.

"Did they really think that was going to hold us back?" Gibbs mused.

"I don't think so," Deweg admitted, leaning back in his seat. "I figure that was more to keep civilians out. Must have been deemed-"

A crackle of voltage caused him to turn.

"...unsafe?"

At that moment did a _bolt of lightning_ rip through Deweg's Magitek Armour, tearing a clean hole through the machine for the brief moment in which it was otherwise alright; then the mech began to _combust from within_, causing Deweg to leap off and land on the arm of Gibbs' machine.

Standing on the other side of the soldiers was a figure who could not be more than thirteen years old - by size. Yet he had the build of a muscleman, with raised veins all across his flesh, hands and feet formed of massive claws; and his skin completely voltic gold. His hair flowed the length of his whole body, and was shining platinum blonde; his face was adorned in tribal patterns, his eyes voids of silver. His mouth was open, revealing teeth like a bear; and despite all of this, his stance was humanoid.

The soldiers all raised their weapons towards him, yet he did not give them a chance to fire upon him; he lashed his hands against the abandoned cart track, and _pure voltage_ leapt down and across the beams of steel, consuming all his foes with electrical force rivalling that of an execution. When the volts died down, the soldiers fell to the earth, lifeless.

"Yeah!" The voice came from further into the mine, where a man in a longjacket was watching. "Get him, Ymir!"

Gibbs only rolled his eyes, pressing a button on his control panel; a beam of fire surged forward, consuming the man and letting his screams echo through the tunnels.

The beast, Ymir, saw this happen; and he quickly raised his hand towards the machine. Flare Dancer took notice and stepped out from under the mech's legs, and Deweg quickly leapt off, landing on the wreckage of his own mech as a bolt of lightning flew from Ymir's palm. The blast struck the machine and consumed the entire thing with the voltage of an EMP bomb; the only reason Gibbs managed to survive was the fact that the pilot's seat was insulated, _in case of _something like this. A couple shocks still struck Gibbs, however, and his own yelling was testament to that. When the shocks faded, the mech began to fall over, and its pilot quickly leapt down as it landed upon the wrecks of the first one.

A bullet slammed into Ymir's arm - and as the limb was thrown forward, it was _consumed_ in violent voltage from the round itself. The beast turned to see the four soldiers who had been guarding the entrance standing there, weapons levelled; upon seeing the monster turn, the soldier whose gun was smoking glanced down at his weapon. "_Shit_, Ramuh rounds!" he yelled.

Ymir only raised his wounded arm before his face, voltage ripping up across it, until the fragmented pieces of the bullet were ejected from the gap left by the shot; then he lashed both hands to his sides, and his entire body _transformed_ into an outline formed of lightning bolts; the bolts vanished into the railing, and the guards had only time to glance around before he appeared five paces behind them. He quickly took six paces and drove his electrified claws into their backs, throwing them to the ground; then he stepped back and impaled the remaining two soldiers in the necks with similar shocks before dragging their heads into each other.

At this point, Flare Dancer stepped forward, standing straight before him. Ymir quickly pulled his claws out of the soldiers, the voltage evaporating the blood as he stepped forward. Once they were ten paces from one another, and each of them could see the other's eyes, he took a stance like he was prepared to run, holding his hands out to his sides.

Flare Dancer took the same pose she had at the start of her dance; feet perpendicular, one hand forward, palm up, the other hand skyward, palm forth.

A moment's pause.

Then Ymir leapt forward, and Flare Dancer arced her body low as gunshots sounded behind her. Two bullets flew over her head and slammed into Ymir - one in his shoulder, one in his arm - and the impact points were consumed with ice as Flare Dancer kicked into a spin. She quickly leapt into the air spinning, bullets flying below her and striking him in the knee and the hip, and those points were wrapped in ice as well before Flare Dancer had landed again.

She leapt back, arcing into a forward flip as shots flew again; these ones struck Ymir in the eyes, and the life had already left him by the time the ice had consumed his helm.

Flare Dancer turned, where Gibbs and Deweg had their revolvers in hand. With grim smirks, the two of them only drove the firearms back into their holsters. "Come on," Gibbs reprimanded, "you're on point."

She acted without a word, stepping between them as they continued, leaving the destroyed mechs where they were.

A few minutes later, they found what they were looking for - a massive figure encased in ice.

"Holy shit," Deweg mused. "No wonder Narshe went into a hype when they saw this."

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed, stepping towards it. "Wonder what the Emperor wants us to do with this?"

Deweg glanced back towards the wreck zone. "That kid took out our whole squadron _and_ our Magitek Armour. Whatever he _wants_ us to do, we can't really _do_ anything. We'll just have to-"

"OW!"

Gibbs' shout caused Deweg to turn to see he had just tried to set his hand on the ice. "Come on, Gibbs," he insisted, "what are you doing?"

"That's... _hot_!" he shouted.

Deweg blinked. "Wait, what?" He stepped forward, reaching towards the frozen chunk. The air around it was increasingly cold the closer his hand got to the ice, just as he expected ice to be. "Seriously?" he protested, glaring at him. "It's just really cold."

Gibbs shook his head. "Put your hand on that and then tell me that!"

"Intense cold comes across as heat when your body first receives it," Deweg insisted, nonetheless reaching for the ice again. "If you just hold it there for a moment, the chill starts to..."

His hand made contact.

The burn _continued_ as he held on.

"Holy _shit_," he gasped, pulling his hand away.

"Told you," Gibbs protested.

The two soldiers drew away from the ice until they were behind Flare Dancer once more; then the turned back to it, thinking.

"I wonder what a Shiva round will do to that," Deweg mused.

He and Gibbs drew their pistols and fired; Gibbs was faster on the draw, which meant that his shot struck first - to no effect. As Deweg's hit behind it, the ice began to glow, and voltage the colour of night sky began to spark over the chilly surface. All three of them reacted, taking another step back; Gibbs and Deweg braced their revolvers, reaching for short swords strapped at their belts, whilst Flare Dancer took her pre-dance posture, preparing for a fight in case it came.

The voltage continued for a long, threatening moment... and then it receded, vanishing and leaving the ice unmarred. The soldiers and dancer all sighed in relief, lowering their arms.

"That could have been-"

Gibbs' observation was cut short when the necrous voltage started up again; this time a bolt slammed into his face, and before he had time to scream, his body had disappeared. Deweg turned towards the location where he had been. "Gibbs?" he cried. "Where'd you-!"

Another bolt slammed into him, now, and he too was gone before he could shout. Left on her own, Flare Dancer could only stand before the frozen creature, silent, her arms extended in case of a fight. The dark lightning continued to leap up and down across the surface of the ice, and so she only kept her eyes on those of the creature inside.

A third bolt surged forward, but this one lingered when it struck her helm, and the circlet embedded there. The voltage twisted in its arc through the air as the circlet began to glow, wrapping the dancing girl's helm in heat and chill at the same time, and her facade of militant obedience began to fade as her mouth opened, and cries of pain echoed through the cavern.

Eventually it became too much, and the crown was torn apart by minute explosions as her consciousness faded.

* * *

><p>Draco: Merry Christmas, VI-ers! I hope this is the only chapter of this that comes out this month, mostly because I have other fics to function.<p> 


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